Sacred Stones.

 I feel rooted to the spot
Hewn from stone
Chipped and shaped, and smoothed
And rounded, perhaps into
A millwheel, to grind corn or wheat.

This land engulfs me, folds me
Into its great monolithic arms
And stands me on it windswept plains
To be worshipped, to be danced round
At mid-summer sunrise.

I tower through the mist and defy
The crashing waves at my feet
My head full of seagulls clamour.
History scrapes its runes about
My body, carving myths in stone.

I am a stone cloud rising from an ancient
Sea, the haunt of peregrine and raven,
A home to holly and yew.
The tree of life adorns my spine
Cup and rings to riddle the hunter.

I wear the landscape like fleeting shadows,
Forgotten time is no mystery to me,
I am the millwheel that turns time to dust
Sets it to the wind and scatters it
To the four corners of the universe.

I am the one you name but do not know,
The time honoured ghost in the misty landscape,
Born from fire and ice, set before the sun and stars
To mark the heavens and mirror the planets
Of your minds eye.